


tired of hiding

by Ereana



Series: You belong to the world and to me [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Insecurity, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Not Beta Read, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Secret Relationship, but only slight mentions or hints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26515645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ereana/pseuds/Ereana
Summary: Atsumu knows he shouldn't be upset. The whole secrecy thing was his idea to begin with and he had very good reasons for it.Watching his teammates flock around his boyfriend he's struggling to remember what those reasons were.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Miya Atsumu
Series: You belong to the world and to me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952110
Comments: 21
Kudos: 206





	tired of hiding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [protagonists](https://archiveofourown.org/users/protagonists/gifts).



> This is gifted to the lovely protagonists who dragged me into rare pair hell.

Atsumu is not upset.

Really he’s not! Why would he be? He’s 25 years old, pursuing his dream career as a professional volleyball player, and  — to quote the latest article on him published in  _ Volleyball Life  _ — strikingly handsome, to most people this would be a charmed life. To top off this picturesque existence he’s currently standing in a gym with the best players of his generation, training in preparation for their upcoming match against Poland...at the Olympics.

He was playing in the Olympics as part of the national team. It was a goal that had never seemed realistic for a time, a pipe dream that was nice to fantasise but unlikely to come true. It had felt even more out of reach after Kageyama had been picked for the 2016 team and he hadn’t made the cut. Except it was real and he’d made it. All the validation he needed was in the red and white jersey neatly folded, and ready for tomorrow’s game. Kageyama was starting but the coach had confirmed that he wanted Atsumu to play at least the last set, maybe more depending on the other setter’s performance.

His arsenal was a team of the ultimate monsters, the best that Japan had to offer; teammates, rivals, old faces from high school who had left to better themselves but heeded the call of their home country when she called. Everyone was talking about them, one of the dark horses of the competition, and tomorrow everyone’s eyes would be on him as he stood on the world stage.

It’s everything Atsumu has ever wanted.

So he’s not upset

But — and shockingly there is a but in all of the amazingness that is his life right now — there is a niggle, an annoyance, an irritating itch under his skin that made him want to scratch it for some relief. The leather of the ball feels familiar in his hands and he spins it idly, anything to keep his hands occupied with what they want to do. 

And what they want to do is yank one Bokuto Koutarou towards him, and away from the cooing band of admirers surrounding him on the court. Honestly, it was so unprofessional. They were in a gym after all, a space specifically built for training. Training not pawing over Atsumu’s ace like he was some sort of small, cute animal. Then again if Bokuto was a small, cute animal Atsumu could at least put a collar on him that showed everyone exactly who he belonged to.

Now that was a thought best saved for later, when he wasn’t imagining increasingly brutal ways of removing Yaku’s hand from Bokuto’s arm.

Yes, he gets it okay! Bokuto has a body that the gods themselves would be jealous of, and yes Yaku hasn’t seen Bokuto in several years since he moved to Russia to go pro, and yes maybe Atsumu isn’t handling this as well as he should.

He, unlike the rest of his teammates, is a professional and knows how to act in a work environment. Hoshiumi laughs at something Bokuto says and reaches up to ruffle his hair. Atsumu’s fingers tighten around the ball, manfully resisting the urge to jump serve it into the Adlers’ spiker’s stupid head.

Even Hinata, his friend and partner, is contributing to the indesceny of the scene playing out before him. He’s not one of the main antagonists like Yaku or Hoshiumi, but apparently he successfully auditioned for one of their sinister henchmen, as he stands next to his beloved mentor and gushes about how awesome and cool Bokuto was in their last match to anyone who will listen.

There are more people willing to listen than Atsumu was comfortable with.

Yaku runs a hand down Bokuto’s arm and he sees red. Sure, maybe it’s simple admiration from one teammate to another, but in his current state of mind it’s hard to think clearly. 

The thing is he should be used to this. Bokuto belongs to the world, always has, and Atsumu would never want to change that — or anything really — about his boyfriend. But lately it seems like the whole world has conspired to be as openly affectionate with Bokuto as Atsumu wishes he could.

If he acted like the others it would be clear after five seconds that their relationship was not as platonic as everyone believed. He’s always struggled to hold back how he feels, and Bokuto’s the same. One touch would lead to more, and the next moment they’d be nuzzling at each other like a pair of teenagers.

Which was fine because they were together. They had their six month anniversary two weeks ago so that made it official. Sure, it was an extra one to one practice and a home-cooked meal back at Atsumu’s flat, but it meant something. It’s the first time he can remember making it to 6 months with anyone, and the recollection of Bokuto taking him apart in bed after dinner always caused his heart to thump painfully.

Six months and he’s still not used to the gentleness, to big strong hands stroking his body with such care, to honest praises whispered against his neck as he gives himself fully to Bokuto’s care.

Shit.

Not the time.

He distracts himself by imagining ‘Samu’s face when he turns up at his restaurant wearing a gold medal. 

Bokuto laughs at something Komori says, and Atsumu is once again reminded of the simmering irritation in his belly. To be fair to the team this is something that’s been bubbling away for a while now. Except he’s in no mood to be fair, and they’ll be lucky if they get one toss from him today. 

Because they can do what Atsumu can’t.

Because Atsumu can’t go over there and stake his claim on Bokuto like he wants to — like a damn dog — because no one actually knows that they're together. And it’s kinda his fault...okay it’s completely his fault, because Bokuto would have been happy to shout it from the rooftop the second they’d gotten together for real. Atsumu had been more reluctant.

This whole — incredible, amazing, like nothing he’d ever felt before —  unexpected thing had started after a party. A post-game party celebrating a terrific match against the Red Falcons, which had inevitably led to drinking, and somehow the conversion had ended up on significant others. Honestly, if he never had to hear Meian cry about how perfect his wife was it would be too soon, she was a lovely woman but there was only so many times he could hear about her kind heart and exceptional cakes. 

The whole thing had been annoying, listening to everyone gush about how happy they were with their partners. Worse, they were at ‘Samu’s restaurant which meant his brother got involved. If there was one thing more excruciating than listening to Aran talk about Kita it was listening to his brother talk about Hinata.

_ He’s never seen ‘Samu look so happy before. There’s a lightness to him, a sparkle of joy in his eyes as he talks about his boyfriend. Hinata’s back in Brazil again but there’s a plain silver band on a chain around Osamu’s neck that he never takes off. _

_ Atsumu is happy for the pair of them. _

_ That doesn’t make the envy burning in his chest less stinging. _

He’d tried to drown his feelings in alcohol but Bokuto had stopped him before he was completely gone. His ace had offered to take him home and they’d said their goodbyes to the rest of the group. He’d felt guilty about making Bokuto leave early to take care of his moping ass, and invited him in to watch a movie. Squished together on his couch  — way too small for two professional volleyball players but it was so comfy he couldn’t replace it — watching some terrible action film, someone’s hand had slipped. He still couldn’t remember whose hand it was. Something had sparked, a tension neither of them had known was there crackling into life.

Whether it was the alcohol, the simple pleasure in feeling Bokuto’s body pressed against his side, or the way bright golden eyes had looked at him; full of focus and intent that was more suitable for a match than Atsumu’s couch. There had been hesitancy too, a pause before taking the plunge as they both waited for the other to take the first step.

Atsumu had been the one to lean in first.

The rest of the night was a blurr of heat, sex, and a deep guttaral moan of his name that would stay with him for weeks after. The next morning they’d agreed it was a one time thing, a fun night caused by alcohol and no small amount of loneliness. It had ended with a handshake for god’s sake, like they were closing a business deal, and Bokuto had left his flat with assurances that the night wouldn’t change anything.

Except it had.

Because now Atsumu knew what kissing Bokuto felt like, knew what he sounded like when he was about to come, knew how it felt to have Bokuto pounding into him, reducing Atsumu to a moaning mess desperate for more. 

He knew that he wouldn’t be satisfied with one night.

So one night had turned into another, then another, until it was a regular arrangement between the two of them. A look in the changing rooms after training ended, a sneaky stroke along the back as he passed him in the hallway, all little signals they developed as this thing went on. 

Then one night Atsumu overslept and woke up to Bokuto making breakfast for them. The cheery ‘morning Tsum-Tsum’ was a much more pleasant wake up call than his usual alarm. The food was decent, and it was funny to watch Bokuto style his hair in the bathroom mirror. They’d talked, and not only about practice for once, it had been nice.

Breakfast turned into a thing.

Spending nights together cuddling on the bed was the next thing. Bokuto wasn’t in the mood one evening and Atsumu had come to the sudden realisation that he didn’t care, he just wanted Bokuto to stay.

He really liked the cuddling.

He learned that Bokuto was the oldest child of three, that his mother had left his father when he was 6 years old, and that he had strong feelings about aquariums. He learned about Bokuto’s desire to be a ‘normal’ ace, how he still struggled with his mood at times, and that he thought Atsumu was one of the most incredible setters he’d ever played with, over an after practice dinner between the two of them.

That last one had cut through Atsumu’s internal mantra of  _ it’s not a date, it’s not a date, it’s not a date  _ and he’d blushed bright red. Bokuto’s eyes had locked on his face with predatory accuracy and he’d asked if they should get the bill, his voice dripping with intent that by then Atsumu had been very familiar with.

One morning Atsumu had woken up before Bokuto, he’d looked at his sleeping friend and in the space between one heartbeat and the next he understood that he always wanted to wake up like this.

Cue panic attack, lots of avoiding and tension — the bad type this time. The rest of the team getting worried, Atsumu sinking deeper into his own head and trying to rationalize his newly discovered feelings away, yada-yada-yada. Cue Bokuto cornering him at his flat asking why it felt like they were losing one another despite getting some close, Atsumu’s mouth betrayed him, confession, wide eyes, happy owl noises and a return confession. Concluded with lots of kissing and christening Atsumu’s table.

Happy ending for all involved.

Except they’d never told anyone what was going on. Mainly, because it was between them, and wasn't a ‘real’ relationship at first, so it wasn’t anyone’s business but there’s. Partly, for Atsumu at least, because he didn’t want to face the teasing and mocking, how ever good spirited it was, from their collective group of friends.

And afterwards, laying in bed wrapped around one another, Atsumu had asked Bokuto if they could continue to keep it a secret. For a second, he swore he saw disappointment flash across his new boyfriend’s face but Bokuto had smiled and agreed. Atsumu had wanted to double check but then Bokuto’s hands were running down his spine and he got distracted.

The secrecy worked for Atsumu, at first.

This thing between them felt so fragile and new, he was afraid that taking it out of the secrecy which it had begun would break it.

At least that was part of it.

The other part was Atsumu’s own nature. He’d been born part of a pair. He’d known the concept of sharing for as long as he’d known about talking and walking. Things were never just his. They belonged to him and someone else. 

Those toys? His and Samu’s.

That room? A bunk bed that was only changed for another bunkbed when they outgrew it.

That sport? Oh why don’t you both try it together. It’s so much easier if you do the same thing.

Except volleyball was  _ his  _ in a way that it had never been ‘Samu’s. It sang to him, pushed him forward again and again, even when every cell in his body was aching. Osamu heard a different song.

Atsumu had never had much that was his and only his, until volleyball, until Bokuto. Now there was this whole person who wanted to be his! He knew that Bokuto would belong to the world but there were parts of him that now belonged to Atsumu, and he guarded them as fiercely as a dragon did his hoard.

He’d had to bite his smirk as Bokuto tried to explain to their captain that no, the marks on his neck were definitely not hickeys, he’d had an incident with his vacuum cleaner that was all.

There were other reasons that made secrecy the preferable option.

Bokuto was an incredibly popular guy with a massive group of friends. Friends who checked in on him, who he saw regularly, who were all drawn to the aura of this incredible man. Atsumu didn’t get on well with people, that was a fact that remained unchanged from his childhood to adult life. He didn’t like most people and most people didn’t like him. Fans did but individual ones were only ever a fleeting part of his life.

That was fine. He’d accepted that a long time ago, and it genuinely didn’t bother him anymore. He had friends and family  — the people who mattered most  — who liked him, and quite a few of them were friends with Bokuto as well. Why should he care what the rest of those scrubs thought?

But.

There were thoughts. Little, irritating niggling thoughts that whispered to him when he was alone. Thoughts of facing people like Akaashi and Kuroo and seeing disapproval in their faces. Thoughts of his old Inarizaki teammates laughing about how someone was finally able to put up with him. Thoughts of people looking at the pair of them and asking why someone like Bokuto was with someone like Atsumu.

What would everyone say if they broke up?

And damn it, he listened.

He got scared.

He wanted to keep this new precious thing that was happening safe and secure, inside the bubble they’d made away from the outside world.

So they kept it secret.

No one knew.

Not Osamu, not Akaashi, no one.

To the rest of their friends, and the world, they were teammates; a strong spiker and setter duo on one of the top teams in the league.

‘Samu had asked him why he’d been so happy recently. Well his words were closer to ‘what’s with that annoyin’ look on yer face lately’ but it still counted. He’d brushed it off as a reaction to the Jackal’s recent win streak but it had been clear that ‘Samu didn’t believe him.

Coach Foster had been pleased with the improved connection between the pair of them on the court, jokingly telling them to take care of one another. Completely unaware that Atsumu had spent the last night on his knees worshipping Bokuto’s body with his mouth.

_ Bokuto always took good care of him. _

Whenever he thought about telling someone, anyone, about them that fear would rise up and he’d bite his lip. 

Bokuto never mentioned making it public either. And that was an entirely different can of worms that he was not prepared to open right now. Atsumu had asked for it to stay secret so maybe he was waiting for Atsumu to say when it could stop being secret.

Six months.

He hadn’t been able to walk hand in hand with his boyfriend down the street.

He hadn’t been able to cuddle up next to him during a team dinner, and rest his head on those impressively broad shoulders.

He hadn’t been able to kiss him after the last victorious point of a game had been scored.

Slowly, those thoughts had started to fight with the others. They bubbled away and mixed with the jealousy he felt at watching others interact so freely with Bokuto while Atsumu always felt that he had to be cautious with touching his own boyfriend.

Atsumu is not upset.

He’s angry, jealous, and fed up with himself for being so insecure about the best relationship he’s ever been in.

Bokuto catches his eye and smiles. Just like that Atsumu’s mood lifts and he smiles back, the ball in his hand seems to breathe a sigh of relief as he stops crushing it.

The relief is short lived, as he nearly bursts it when Gao nervously stutters out that Bokuto was one of his favourite players to watch back in high school.

What kinda TV drama shit is this?

“Want to tell me what that ball ever did to you?” Aran’s voice cuts through the red and green haze colouring his vision. 

“Feels a bit off is all, I’m testin’ it,” he replies and tears his eyes away from the group of admirers. Aran gives him a look, and it’s a look Atsumu knows well, he got a lot of them back in Inarizaki.

“Uh-huh, what’s wrong?”

Atsumu jerks back, “Wha-? Nothin’s wrong. Why wouldya even ask that?”

The look doesn’t change. “Because I’ve known ya since middle school, and I can tell when somethin’s wrong with ya.” Aran looks him up and down, as if the cause of Atsumu’s mood would manifest itself physically.

Then again it’s Aran, the guy can be pretty perceptive at times and he’s had years to master reading Atsumu’s moods.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong. Didya need somethin’ or didya just come over to mother me?” he snarks back and bounces the ball once on the floor. The sound is sharp and echoes in the gym.

“Actually yeah, Ushijima and I want to practice our spikes a bit before tomorrow’s match. Ya free to help out?”

Atsumu perks up, setting for those two monsters would be fun and hopefully get his mind off the whole Bokuto situation. He shrugs lazily, and smirks.

“Ya miss me settin’ for ya that much? I’m touched,” he ignores Aran’s eyeroll, “yeah I’ve got time. Tobio-kun is workin’ with the others,” he jerks a finger over to the group-that-shall-not-be-tossed-to-apart-from-Bokuto, “so I’m all yers.”

“Greaaaaaat.” The sarcastic drawl in Aran’s voice is so clearly fake that Atsumu doesn’t bristle at it. Instead a familiar thrum of excitement starts to pulse through his veins. 

He loves tossing to strong players, players that can make the most of what he sends them, and Aran has always been one of his favourite spikers. It’s hardly a punishment to wander to the other side of the gym and start practicing.

There’s still a slight disconnect between himself and Ushijima, it’s not been a major problem so far, but the upcoming matches are going to be on a whole new level. They can’t afford to have a single chink in their armour. He won’t stand for that kind of flaw, especially not from himself.

Naturally, because Ushijima is spiking, Sakusa joins them as well. Atsumu has no idea what’s going on between the two of them, but Ushijima’s presence is enough to keep Sakusa focused and quiet. Not that his teammate isn’t those things anyway, it’s just that usually spiking practice with Sakusa involves a lot of snarky remarks about his intelligence and/or personal hygiene. After two years he’s used to it by now but it is a refreshing change of pace.

All three of them are in great shape, Atsumu honestly has no idea who the coach will pick for the starting line up tomorrow. His money is on Aran, his old friend didn’t play the last game and is fresh and raring to go.

“Nice spike Omi-kun,” he calls out, sinking his mind into the repetitive motions of toss and spike, “how’s ya wrist holdin’ up?”

Sakusa shrugs, “They’re fine.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow, “Really? Cause I coulda sworn I heard Iwaizumi-san tellin’ ya to take it easy for the next few days?”

He watches gleefully as Sakusa’s ears turn red. Gotcha.

Maybe he looks a little too smug, a chronic problem according to ‘Samu, because Sakusa straightens his spine clearly ready to argue. He never gets the words out though because Ushijima puts a hand on his back, and that single handedly (ha) causes Sakusa to choke on his words.

“Miya-kun is correct,” ah his favourite words. He did wish the guy would loosen up and call him Atsumu like everyone else though, “you should not practice too hard if you’ve been advised to rest. We will need you for the Argentina match.”

“Ho, so sure they’ll be our next opponents? Aren’t they facin’ the USA tomorrow? That’s a tough team.” Atsumu says, and then has to blink in shock.

Ushijima is smiling. It’s a rare expression to see on his face, at least for Atsumu, and there’s a curl of anticipation in the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sure.  _ That  _ man will make sure of it.”

Who the hell is on Argentina’s team to have that much respect from Ushijima? Atsumu is eager to find out, a player like that could only be ridiculously strong.

“Now, now I’m sure Sakusa knows how to take care of himself,” Aran steps in, ever the mediator, “and Atsumu, yer tosses are in excellent shape. Feels sorta like high school again except now I don’t have two of ya to deal with.”

He preens at the praise, always welcome even with the backhand compliment, and misses the way Aran’s eyes glitter with amusement.

“Though I guess maybe ya are both here in a way, any reason you chose the number 11 for ya jersey number?” He crosses his arms and smiles broadly as Atsumu starts to stutter.

“Wha-What are ya talkin’ about Aran?! It’s a number, ain’t nothin’ special about it. Maybe I pulled it out of a hat.”

“Riiiiiiight, I’m sure it’s completely random that you’re wearing Osamu’s old number here of all places.” Atan drawls and leans into Atsumu’s space.

Damn it, he can feel himself blushing. Aran knows him too well, knows exactly why Atsumu chose that number, of all numbers, for his Olympic jersey. But he’s in no mood to explain a lifetime of shared experiences, and different dreams that once threatened to tear them apart but instead only served to make them stronger than they ever were together. He didn’t want to voice the comfort that number gave him, the feeling that there was a part of ‘Samu with him as he faced the grandest of all stages.

“I agree, your tosses have been impeccable Miya-kun. I look forward to hitting them during the match.”

The honest praise made his face burn hotter. Yes he knew that he was good, but it was always so satisfying to hear it from other people’s mouths. A reminder that his teammates agreed that he should be standing there with them.

“Hey, Hey, Hey!” Atsumu jerks forward with an oomph as a familiar arm settles on his shoulder, “How’s it going guys? Those were some powerful spikes.”

Aran and Ushijima dutifully begin recounting their recent training session, with Sakusa chipping in now and then. Atsumu struggles to keep up though because Bokuto’s head is resting on his shoulder, and he’s somehow been pressed into his boyfriend’s side. He can feel every breath against his neck and it’s giving him shivers. Is it just his imagination or is the hand on his shoulder gripping a little tighter than warranted for a simple hold? He glances at Bokuto, sure they touch a fair bit, it’s part of being on a team with the guy, but this seems different. 

Bokuto’s thumb rubs a circle against his clavicle. It’s such a small motion that he shouldn’t even notice it. Except it’s Bokuto and Atsumu seems to have become uniquely attuned to his partner’s every movement. He can’t even feel it properly though the material of his shirt, but it sends a thrill down his spine.

It’s not a usual ‘teammate’ touch and it’s happening right out in the open. Atsumu feels stupidly giddy, and fights to keep a slightly bored expression on his face.

“Whoa, that sounds amazing,” Bokuto says, the words brushing right past Atsumu’s ear in a puff of warm breath, “but do you mind if I steal Tsum-Tsum for a bit? Need to borrow something from him.”

Aran nods, “No problem. Practice is over for today anyway. See ya at dinner Atsumu?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll see ya,” he swears that the fingers on his shoulders dig in, sharply. 

He jerks his head back to ask what the matter is but Bokuto is already steering him towards the exit. Past the changing room, past the showers, where are they going?

He wants to ask but the arm on his shoulder feels like steel, and when he risks a glance to the side Bokuto’s easy smile is gone.

Atsumu’s heartbeat thumps loudly in his ears.

They’re in the dorms now, he and Bokuto are on the same floor but not neighbours. 

“Babe?” They’re alone, the endearment slips from his mouth easily now, “everythin’ okay?”

A grunt is all the answer he gets before Bokuto surges forward and kisses him harshly. It’s sloppy, all tongue and teeth, no finesse at all and Atsumu melts. He clutches desperately at Bokuto’s back and ignores the pain in his own as he’s slammed backwards against the wall.

The kiss feels like a brand, a searing wave of heat sends all his nerves tingling and he cranes his head to deepen it. 

Bokuto pulls back and Atsumu whimpers at the loss. He tries to tug him forward, eager to continue the beginnings of a promising make out session, when he catches sight of Bokuto’s eyes and nearly swallows his own tongue.

Molten gold stares back at him.

God, he looks dangerous, and hungry. Atsumu is in the mood to be devoured.

He moves forward, suddenly desperate for the feel of Bokuto’s mouth on his. Instead Bokuto lunges at his neck, planting hot open mouthed kisses against Atsumu’s jumping pulse.

“B-Bok-kun?” Speech is rapidly becoming difficult as Bokuto presses flush against him and honest to god's licks his neck like some sort of cheesy vampire. Except rather than laugh, Atsumu groans and thunks his head back against the wall. He drops his hands to Bokuto’s back, desperate for some stability in the storm of arousal that is building inside.

“Which one’s your room Tsum-Tsum?” Bokuto asks, his voice low and dark as sin. A hand sneaks up under Atsumu’s shirt, lightly tracing his left side, before reaching his nipple and tugging at it sharply.

Atsumu moans and pulls Bokuto closer, any space between them intolerable. Bokuto continues to lavish attention on his neck, punctuating each word with a kiss.

“Answer. Me. Tsum-Tsum.” He grinds his hips upwards and Atsumu’s head bangs against the wall again.

This is how he’s going to die.

“N-Number twelve.” At least he thinks it is. It’s hard to remember unimportant shit like room numbers while Bokuto is reducing him to a pile of satisfied goo. His lungs are burning for air even as he gasps for breath, he doesn’t need it. Doesn’t need anything apart from Bokuto to carry on touching him, and kissing him like this.

“Good boy.”

_ Oh _

Atsumu has half a second to realise exactly how deep he is before he’s moving again. Maneuvered more by Bokuto’s arm and his own horniness rather than any deliberate effort on his part.

Thankfully, the door is unlocked. Bless morning-Atsumu and his lack of security caution. He hears it close with a deliberate click before Bokuto is on him. Kissing him again and again. There are hands on his waist, gripping hard enough to bruise and Atsumu wants them to. Wants a physical reminder that this is real, Bokuto’s mark against his skin to chase away his own stupid thoughts whenever they start to bray too loud.

The momentary pause as they stumbled to the room gave him enough time to regain some of his senses, and he kisses back just as fiercely. 

This is a bad idea.

The door is unlocked, everyone will be coming back from the changing rooms soon, and neither of them are being particularly quiet. Bokuto damn near growls when Atsumu sinks his teeth into his lip as he pulls away, and all Atsumu’s sex-stupid brain can think is ‘more’.

The sensible thing would be to stop. To talk about why Bokuto would rather feast on Atsumu then the carefully prepared meal in the cafeteria.

Atsumu is not in a sensible mood.

He loops his arms around Bokuto’s neck and pulls him closer.

“Not that I’m- _ ah _ complainin’ but what brought this on babe?” His answer is a rumbling groan and then the back of his knees hit the bed. He gets a glimpse of the ceiling before Bokuto is there, caging him with his body. His hands are gripping the sheets below them and he looks at Atsumu with burning eyes.

The desire and want in them causes Atsumu’s heart to jump. Six months and he’s still not used to it. He reaches up a hand to stroke Bokuto’s cheek, a touch of gentleness amidst the haze of heat, and Bokuto’s eyes snap to his.

“Babe?”

Now it’s Bokuto’s turn to shudder, like Atsumu’s voice had a physical effect on him. He turns his head into Atsumu’s palm and kisses it.

“Tell you later,” he says softly, “right now I just want to feel you.”

What can he say to that? He pulls Bokuto forward, the urge to kiss him stronger than ever before, and sighs in pleasure as a hand runs through his hair.

Afterwards they cuddle. Atsumu the little spoon sinking into Bokuto’s arms with a lazy hmmm. They couldn’t do anything too strenuous of course, there is a game tomorrow, but he’s satisfied and, judging from the broken cry when Bokuto came down his throat, his partner is as well. It would be incredibly easy to drift off to sleep like this, an extremely happy pile of setter pudding, but —

“Ya gonna tell me what that was about? Not that I’m complain’ or anythin’,” he feels Bokuto tense behind him and frowns at the wall, “Kou?”

“Mph hmm mphhous,” he giggles and interlocks their fingers.

“In a language I can understand please.” 

“I was jealous.”

What.

“What?” He tries to turn around, needing to see Bokuto’s face while they talk about this, but the arms around him tighten preventing him from doing so.

“I said I was jealous, I know it’s stupid you don’t need to say it.” Atsumu can tell from the plaintive note in Bokuto’s voice that he’s upset. He moves to turn again but to no avail. 

“Would ya let me look at ya?” he huffs.

“Don’t wanna, I like holding you like this.”

Atsumu ignores the way his heart melts and taps against Bokuto’s arm.

“Well I wanna see yer face, and since ya jumped me in the corridor I think ya owe me one.” 

Bokuto snorts against his neck. “Please, like you didn’t enjoy that,” but he relents, and loosens his grip enough for Atsumu to turn and face him.

He’s smiling but there’s a worried frown between his brows. Atsumu reaches up to smooth it out with his fingers.

“Now, what’s all this about jealousy?” Bokuto’s eyes dart away from him, bashful and a little ashamed.

“I-I saw you playing and talking with the other spikers, and I-I don’t know it just hit me all of a sudden. They were touching you and smiling, and then Aran said something that made you go bright red and I —I’m sorry Tsum-Tsum.” He glances back at Atsumu. 

At the end of it Atsumu’s heart is beating in his ears. Could it be?

Taking his silence as disapproval, Bokuto continues. “And it’s not like I don’t trust you, and I know there’s nothing between you and Aran, and I’m being childish about this so I understand if—”

Atsumu kisses him soft and slow. He runs a hand through Bokuto’s hair, now loose and hanging around his face, Bokuto’s not the one who’s been childish.

“I’m not mad Bok-kun. In fact wouldya believe me if I said I felt the same seeing Yaku-kun and Hoshiumi flock around ya?”

Bokuto’s face says he doesn’t believe him so Atsumu kisses him again.

“I don’t like seein’ them touch ya so easily when I can’t.”

“B-But you know I’m—”

“Yes I know,” he interrupts, he has to get this out now while they’re here in the safe, quiet space of his room; protected from the outside and all its complications, “and I trust ya but,” deep breath, “I’m sick of pretendin’ that ya aren’t mine.”

The words hang between them in silence. Bokuto stares at him with wide eyes before wetting his lips.

“I thought you wanted this,” he gestures to the pair of them, “to be secret?” 

This time Atsumu can see it, hope. It’s there in Bokuto’s eyes and the quiet shaking of his voice. He’d been really selfish hadn’t he. He kisses Bokuto’s nose, chuckling as he goes cross-eyes trying to follow him.

“I did but not anymore. I wanna tell everyone that yer my boyfriend, show ya off to the world,” and it’s true he realises. He doesn’t want to hide anymore. It still scares him but — looking at Bokuto’s blushing face and small pleased grin — it’s not enough to smother the desire to be open with his partner.

Bokuto doesn’t say a word.

“I-I mean only if ya want to asw—”

“I want to!” Bokuto blurts and moves his head closer to Atsumu’s. Their foreheads touch and Atsumu’s breath catches in his throat at the sheer happiness in those beautiful, golden eyes. “I’ve wanted to ever since we got together officially.”

He knew it.

“So we’re in agreement then? We tell everyone about us.”

‘Samu is going to kill him for keeping this from him.

“Yep.”

Bokuto’s is smiling at him and not even the threat of fratricide is enough to dampen the surge of emotions in his chest.

“When do ya want to tell them?” It’s only fair after all. Atsumu forced the secrecy on them so Bokuto should decide when to cast it off.

“Tomorrow, right after we win the game.” It’s said with such conviction and confidence, that any lingering doubt Atsumu has is stamped out.

Fuck.

He smiles.

“Alright then, tomorrow it is.”

Bokuto kisses him once more.

Tomorrow arrives.

It’s the last point of the match. Poland have played incredibly well, but if Japan win this it’ll be the third set they need to win.

Atsumu’s heart is pounding as his body thrums with adrenaline. His arms ache but they’ll see him through to the end.

Up the ball goes.

Komori digs the serve and it goes flying back into the air.

Gao goes to spike it.

Blocked! 

But Hinata is there and up it goes again.

It’s a little shaky but Atsumu can get it. He sees Aran and Bokuto run for the net, both utterly convinced that the ball is coming for them. Who to send it to? Who can end this match in one single go?

He sends the toss.

So maybe he’s a little biased.

Bokuto grins elatedly.

WHAM

The ball is slammed down.

The whistle goes. The scoreboard changes.

They’ve won.

Atsumu yells to the ceiling, triumphant and proud, around him his teammates do the same. They get to play again, he gets to play again on this grand stage. He can hear whooping from the bench, the crowd cheering, the commentators’ excited babbling as Japan once again defies expectations and moves forward in the tournament.

His eyes catch Bokuto’s and his heart thumps in his ears.

Here?

Bokuto starts running to him.

Now?

His arms are outstretched and Atsumu opens his own.

Of all places?

They collide in a sweaty, messy hug on centre court. Bokuto laughs against his ear and pulls Atsumu flush against him. Atsumu hugs him back just as fiercely. They pull back at the same time.

Bokuto smiles at him, bright and happy, and everything that Atsumu has ever wanted.

He loves this man.

So when Bokuto leans in to kiss him Atsumu moves faster and kisses him first.

Around them there’s a split second of confused silence. Their teammates turn to look at them with shocked wide eyes, Sakusa nearly chokes on his water. In the stands Kuroo almost falls out of his seat unable to comprehend what he’s seeing happen right in front of his eyes, in front of the world.

In an apartment surrounded by other shocked Fukurodani, Akaashi blinks at the screen then smiles.

In a small, but busy and highly-rated, restaurant Osamu drops the plate he’s holding. His eyes locked on the screen that shows his twin brother enthusiastically kissing one of his spikers.

Osamu is going to kill him.

Except Atsumu pulls back and shit, Osamu has never seen him look at anyone like that before.

Maybe he should leave ‘Sumu alive after all. He wouldn’t deny their mom the chance of killing him herself.

Atsumu has no knowledge of his impending doom and he wouldn’t care if he did. Bokuto is giggling and holding him close. They’re both in desperate need of a shower and already he can hear the questions from the others cutting through their moment.

The world is watching them.

And Bokuto is watching him.

It’s all he needs.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My second fic for this ship! If you've read this far I hope that you enjoyed it :) This was inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/maddox_rider/status/1302634016030388226) lovely fanart by maddox. This was also my first time writing something a little more physical for a ship so I hope it turned out alright.
> 
> Feel free to come say hi on [my twitter](https://twitter.com/Jen_B93).


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